


All I Want for Christmas

by youreyestheyglow



Series: Christmas Stories 2k15 [5]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Fluff, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, all fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 04:07:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5524841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youreyestheyglow/pseuds/youreyestheyglow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurapika stays with Leorio for way longer than normal, and Leorio is sappy and stubs his toe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Want for Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [karkatsthong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karkatsthong/gifts).



> Maddi asked where all the leopika fics were. the answer is that they are here

Waking Pika is out of the question.

The timer on the oven shows 20 seconds left. At the end of those 20 seconds, it will beep, loudly, and then Pika will wake up. If he wakes up, he’ll leave, and there’s no reason for that to happen.

I’ve heard all of his excuses before and they’re all bullshit. I know Melody is willing to cover for him for another five hours still. I know there’s no traffic. I know the other bodyguards can handle whats-her-name. I don’t know that nothing horrifying and world-threatening will happen, but if something bad does happen, I’d rather Pika be here with me than there with whatever’s trying to kill people. So there’s no reason for him to go. And the longer he waits, the more likely it is that the snow will stop. Driving in the snow is dangerous, and Pika doesn’t have as great a sense of self-preservation as he thinks he does.

Down to 15 seconds.

I consider my arm. Pika’s lying on it. I lost feeling in it a while ago, but that only makes things harder – I can’t maneuver it out from under his torso. He’s got his head on my shoulder, too, so even if I took my arm back, he’d just fall over.

I can’t move, and coming to that conclusion took 10 full seconds.

Five.

Four.

Three –

I create a wrinkle in space and stick my hand through it, practically punching the “Off” button.

It _beeps_ , the _fucker._

I can’t believe I forgot that it beeps. I should know that by now. I’ve been here all goddamn semester and I should know my own fucking oven but I don’t and it beeped and Pika jolts and blinks his eyes open.

“Did I fall asleep on you again?” he mumbles.

“Yeah. It’s fine.”

He waves one hand. “I should try and stay awake, while I’m with you.”

There’s really no way of explaining my feelings on the subject without it being awkward, so I just turn bright red and scramble to my feet. “Gotta get the cookies,” I mutter as I escape into the kitchen.

The cookies came out fine, but if I keep holding my face over them, they might burn. “Want milk?” I call into the living room.

“What kind of Neanderthal eats cookies without milk?” He asks indignantly.

“Not this one,” I respond, pulling two cups out of the cupboard.

I glance over into the living room and see Pika, twisted around to face me, arms folded on the back of the couch, chin resting on his forearms. He’s looking at me with what I’ve come to call his Sleepy Pika face – SleePika™ for short – the one where he blinks lazily at me, smiling stupidly, like his brain short-circuited. I know for a fact that I’m the only one who gets to see it, because everyone else always asks me how the hell I manage to survive his wakings; apparently, if he’s anywhere else, he goes from REM cycle to fighting stance.

I burn my hands on some cookies and carry a plate full of them and two cups of milk into the living room. Pika scoots closer to me when I sit down, throwing a blanket around my shoulders and taking up his previous position against my shoulder.

“You plan on holding milk and eating while one of your arms is out of commission?” I ask dryly.

He huffs and scoots a couple inches away. “What are your plans for the rest of the week? Anything fun? Christmas parties?” He asks, swirling a cookie around in the cup. It’s gonna get soggy and fall apart in there, and then he’ll have to drink weird cookie-milk. Ah well. He’s the big bad bodyguard; I’m just a lowly med student. Who am I to warn him?

“There’s that party Gon’s hosting tomorrow, which would worry me, but Killua’s actually going to be there, so that means he’s hosting it too, so it shouldn’t be too bad. I’ll probably go. Other than that…” I search the recesses of my brain and come up with nothing. Everyone else I know is in college and poor, and most of them went back home for the break. “Nothing.”

Pika nods. “Every time I see that heading, I get worried.” He deepens his voice and booms, “The party of _Freecss_ is just around the corner!” He shudders.

“I guess you’re not going, then?” I already know he’s not going. He never goes. The days he carves out for me are few and far between, and he spends most of them nearly catatonic. There’s no good reason for him to use a day off to party instead of sleep. All the same, it’s a little depressing. I know Gon misses him. Killua understands and won’t say a word, but I know he misses Pika too. And Pika deserves to have fun every so often. Even if it is at one of Gon’s parties.

“I think I am going, actually.”

I choke on my cookie.

“I also think I’m going to give you one of your Christmas presents early, if you don’t mind.”

I cough and sputter as he ignores my suffering. “You got another day off so soon?” I spew as soon as I can breathe.

He smiles. He’s trying to hold it back, but he’s smiling. Grinning. “If you could have one thing this Christmas, what would you ask for?”

“Way to ignore my question,” I grumble, but I consider his question. It doesn’t take long. I stare directly ahead, although that probably only succeeds in presenting him with a perfect view of my bright-red face in profile. “How cheesy would it be if I starting singing _All I Want for Christmas Is You_?”

He laughs. “Probably not half as cheesy as me saying I’m making your wish come true.”

It takes me a second, but I’m not an idiot. I whip around to face him. “WHAT?”

“I got the week off. I don’t have to be back until the day after Christmas. If you’re willing to host me for that long, I’ll be here the whole time.”

My mouth flaps. It’s not my most attractive moment. But it’s not my fault. It’s not like he gets weekends off, or even two non-consecutive days off per week. He doesn’t get one day off per week. He doesn’t even get one day a month off. It’s been two months since I last saw him. “An entire _week_?”

He nods, but his grin is beginning to flag. I’m not saying anything. I can’t say anything. Jesus _Christ_.

I grab him instead, wrapping him in my arms as tightly as I possibly can. “Of course you can stay here. I’m – Jesus. Holy _shit_. An entire week. You’re gonna be here for an entire week. Pika, that’s honestly the best Christmas present – the best gift, period – you could’ve possibly gotten me.”

“Merry Christmas,” he tells my shoulder.

I let go of him eventually. It’s hard to eat cookies while hugging. But he stays. He stays for another hour, two, three, four – he stays. He dozes off sometimes, and misses all of How the Grinch Stole Christmas, and, somehow, sleeps through half of Die Hard, but he stays. He switches positions every so often, putting a pillow on my shoulder, and then giving up and moving to my lap, and then putting a pillow on my lap. I just sit there and run my fingers through his hair, marveling at the fact that I can count the days, rather than the minutes, until he leaves.

He sleeps in my bed. Somehow, having him there changes my entire apartment. I fall asleep with a hand on my arm. When I wake up throughout the night, he’s there. When I tiptoe out to go to the bathroom, I tiptoe instead of walking normally. When I stub my toe because I’m concentrating on being quiet instead of avoiding walls, I rage silently instead of loudly. When I make it back to bed, Pika nearly whacks me in the face, narrowly avoiding breaking my nose. And _the_ apartment becomes _my_ apartment, because Pika’s in it.

Pika’s gone when I wake up in the morning.

A wave of despair rolls over me, crushingly cruel. _You knew it was too good to be true,_ it says, _but you believed it anyway, so it’s your fault._

I pick a blond hair off the pillow. He was here, he just left. He left me, like always. I should’ve known he would, but somehow, I didn’t expect it.

I take a deep breath, struggling against the weight in my chest. Time to not be selfish about this. He’s got a job, a demanding one, but he likes it, even if he’s not a fan of the body he’s guarding. Somehow, he found a line of work that suits and fulfills him, and it’s not his fault that his client required his presence before his vacation ended. I shouldn’t be angry that he didn’t say goodbye, either – he probably didn’t want to wake me up. I’ve probably got a text from him sitting on my phone right now, waiting for me to read it.

My heart hurts a little less. He doesn’t get much time off, but when he does, he spends it with me, and I’m grateful for it.

“Is there a reason why you’re smiling at one of my hairs?” Asks a voice in the doorway.

Pika leans against the doorframe, stifled laughter contorting his face.

The pain around my heart eases, which is great, because that makes it easier to pump all my blood into my face.

I roll over to face the wall. “No. I’m going back to bed.”

The mattress doesn’t dip under his weight, because he doesn’t sit on it. The mattress _bounces_ , because he _jumps_ on it. He kisses my cheek. “I’m glad you’re awake. I need to know where the butter is.”

“Don’t have any.”

“Is that because you actually don’t have any, or because you’re too embarrassed to get up?” He kisses my temple.

I roll my eyes and struggle to my feet. Pika follows me into the kitchen and all the way to the fridge, where I take the butter out of its very exposed place on the top shelf and hand it to him.

“You keep your butter in the _fridge_?” He asks.

“Yeah, where do you keep yours?”

“On the counter. So that when I use it, it’s not _frozen_.”

“It’s _not_ frozen. It’s chilled. I put it in the fridge, not the freezer.”

“Semantics.”

“Science.”

He makes a face at me and turns away. “Eggs for breakfast?”

“Sure.” I open the fridge again and reach down. “Why are the eggs gone?”

“Because I already took them out.”

I look over Pika’s shoulder, and sure enough, he’s already got the eggs out, and he’s already got four eggs cracked into a bowl. “Oh.”

I set the table for the first time since I moved in, and make toast for the umpteenth time.

Pika’s really fuckin good at making eggs.

We end up back on the couch after breakfast, sitting on opposite ends with our feet tangled in the middle. Pika’s reading a book I got him last Christmas. The pages are bent and marked up, with both pen and food, and the dustjacket is missing entirely. I’ve got one of my old anatomy books open – I’m not taking any anatomy classes this semester, and I don’t want to forget everything – but it’s not half as interesting as Pika.

I don’t see him very often. Even our Skype sessions are rare, and Pika usually ends them after ten minutes. I don’t get the chance to watch him read. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him lounge around and do something he enjoys. Even when we _are_ together, he’s usually sleeping. If there’s one thing I _do_ see a lot, it’s him falling asleep – like now, when his head begins to nod and the book slips a little out of his grasp. He gives up with a sigh, marking his place and putting it on the coffee table before folding his legs and crawling over to me, kneeling in my lap and looking at me expectantly.

I don’t bother marking my page; it’s not like I’m studying anything specific. I dump my book on the floor and Pika practically falls on my chest, knocking the air out of my lungs and probably breaking a couple of my bones. He threads his arms under my back, heaves a sigh, and falls asleep like that.

Time pauses.

Or, rather, it ceases to matter.

For the first time in God knows how long, I don’t look at the clock, and I don’t want to.

I can feel Pika’s back rising and falling, gentle and constant, like the ocean on a calm day.

His hair is smooth to the touch, longer than it was last time I saw him.

I notice that he didn’t bother putting on his earrings.

Then again, he didn’t bother putting on clothes, either, so I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me.

His arms twitch every so often.

It’s a little strange.

I can’t bring myself to care.

I fall asleep in precisely the right position so that my neck will hurt for the rest of the day.

 

When I wake up, my neck hurts, and Pika is standing up. He stretches, arms above his head, like the reason he’s on his toes is because he pulled himself up there.

I sit up and kiss the small of his back.

He smolders at me over his shoulder. “We should get a Christmas tree.

I pause for a minute, trying to connect the facial expression to the statement, but I give up soon enough. The two don’t fit together and there’s no point in trying to pretend that they do. “All right.”

“That’s it? No arguing?”

I stand and shrug. “No arguing.”

He peers over his shoulder, _clearly_ trying to snap his own neck.

“What are you _doing_?”

“Trying to figure out what’s on my back that made you so agreeable.”

I roll my eyes and turn away. “I’m gonna go get dressed, like a sensible human being. You can keep looking at your own back if you’d like.”

He follows me into my room, snickering. “I’d rather look at yours.”

I make a face.

I end up having to lend Pika one of my scarves – he didn’t bring any. It’s the middle of winter and he didn’t bring a scarf. I’m gonna have to fill his closet with winter clothes. Or maybe I’ll just glue my scarf directly onto his neck, so he can’t forget it. It’s cold out, not cold enough for frostbite or hypothermia to set in, but the cold still isn’t good for him, and I’ll be damned if he’s gonna get sick on my watch.

We walk to the nearest Christmas tree farm. Neither of us see any problem with that state of affairs until we actually arrive at the lot.

“I can’t carry a tree. Even if it’s tied up, I can’t carry it all the way back.”

“Me neither.”

We wander through the lot anyway.

“We could just get a little baby tree,” I suggest, pointing at the tiny ones that I could probably carry in one hand.

Pika grimaces. “Is it even legal to kill a tree when it’s that young?”

“Probably.”

“What, you don’t know the Christmas Tree Laws by heart?”

“I’m a med student, not a lawyer.”

“I’m just a bodyguard.”

“Should we ask someone?”

“I feel like that would be awkward, probably.”

We contemplate the baby trees in silence for a moment.

Ten minutes later, we leave the tree lot. We’ve got a full-size Christmas tree, balanced between the two of us. It’s really unfortunate that we’re not the same height. It makes things unnecessarily difficult.

“My arms are tired. I can’t hold it over my head anymore,” Pika says after a couple minutes.

I move the tree from the shoulder to under my arm, precisely the opening required for a thousand pine needles to stab me in the waist. Pika lowers it to his shoulder. The tree isn’t horizontal, but it’s close enough.

Then it’s my turn to complain about holding it up, and about the awkwardness of only being able to use one arm to hold up an entire tree – or my half, at least – and I scoot it up to my shoulder, and Pika holds it above his head.

And then we decide we need a break, and dump the tree on the sidewalk while we shake out our arms and contemplate the mechanics of teleportation.

It took us ten minutes to walk to the lot. It takes us half an hour to get back.

We lean it against the living room wall with a sigh of relief. Pika winces when he stretches his arms, which makes me feel a _little_ bit better about not having the same musculature.

“Where should we put it?”

“Pika?”

“Hmm? Where should we put it?”

“That’s not the problem.”

“What?”

“I don’t have a tree stand.”

He stares at me. “What?”

“I don’t have a tree stand.”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

“I didn’t think about it.”

“They sold stands at the lot. We could’ve gotten one.”

“And carried it back?”

“I guess not.”

We stare at the tree.

“We gotta go back.”

“Yep.”

I grumble the entire way there, and Pika grumbles the first half of the way back. Only the first half, though, because he stops, looks at me, and says: “Do you have any ornaments?”

He grumbles all the way back to the tree lot, and we both grumble the entire way home.

Setting up the tree is an interesting experience, because neither of us have ever done it before. I get pine needles up my nose, and Pika snorts a bug. We both get hit in the face by multiple branches. I consider taking off my glasses, but decide that a scratched lens is better than a scratched eyeball. I give Pika one of my old pairs of sunglasses, and he trips over the brand-new Christmas lights. We get the tree up. It stays up.

We take a break for snacks.

The lights and the garland are equally impossible.

“My mom used to do it in sections – you know, cover this section of the tree, then that one, rather than wrapping it all around the tree in circles.”

“It’s definitely supposed to go around the tree in circles.”

“Probably, but it’s difficult and a pain in the ass.”

I decided to do it my way, walking around the tree in circles. I had to start at the bottom, of course, so that the plug would reach an outlet, so I had to bend over half the time, which is bad for my back. And the tree is right against the wall, so I have to squash myself between the tree and the wall.

I get through two circles before I give up.

Pika doesn’t say _I told you so_ , but I know he’s thinking it.

We do the garland his way, too.

“At least the balls don’t have to wrap around anything.”

Pika giggles. “Yeah, wrapping balls around _anything_ would be bad.”

I glance at him. He’s trying so hard to suppress his laughter that his face is turning red. “The proper term is _testicles_.”

“If you say so. Here.” He passes me a ball. “You can hang this testicle.”

My eyes roll back in my head, but it’s too late, the damage is done.

“Here, you can hang up this testicle, too. I’ll hang this one. Jesus, this tree is gonna be _hung_.”

“Yknow what, I’m just gonna pick out my _own_ balls from now on, all right?”

“Jesus _Christ_ –”

That’s all Pika manages to get out before he chokes on his own laughter.

I wait.

And wait.

And wait a little bit more.

Pika walks out of the room.

He comes back a few minutes later, looks at me, and giggles.

He walks out again.

“I’m gonna hang all the balls if you’re not back in here soon!” I call, and hear his bark of laughter come from the bathroom.

“I thought you said the proper term was testicles!” He yells back.

“Come help me hang the testicles!”

He comes back in.

Every ball is hung with a fit of giggles, but we get it done.

We step back and look at the finished product.

“I gotta say, our tree has balls,” Pika murmurs.

“Nice-looking ones, too.”

Pika loops his arm around mine. “We did good.”

“Somehow.”

I step away to plug the lights in. Pika closes the blinds and turns off the lamps. We stand bathed in the multicolored glow of our Christmas tree.

I bend to kiss Pika’s temple. He smiles up at me.

My heart hurts.

I want him to stay with me. For longer than just the week.

Maybe it showed on my face for a moment, or maybe Pika’s telepathic, or maybe he’s thinking the same thing I am, but he slides his arms around my waist and rests his head against my shoulder.

“I miss you,” he says softly.

“I’m right here.”

“When I’m not with you.”

I just hug him back. I’ve got nothing to say to that.

He takes a deep breath. “Anyway. How are we getting to Whale Island tomorrow?”

“Nen. I can send my entire body through the wrinkle I create, and I can probably take you with me. I’ve never tried it before, but there’s no reason why I _can’t_ do it.”

He goes perfectly still. For a moment, I think he’s stopped breathing.

“Leorio, you can send things through your nen?”

I pull the space between my hand and the tree together like an accordion and stick my hand through it, grabbing an ornament and pulling it back to me. It comes through unscathed. “Apparently.”

“Leorio?”

“What?”

“Why didn’t you do that with the tree?”

“With the tree?” I put the ornament back on the tree in question. I don’t need to be holding it.

“When we carried the tree nearly half a mile back here. Or any one of the multiple times we went back to the tree lot. Why didn’t you use your nen?”

I stare down at him.

I look back up at the tree.

“ _Fuck_.”

Pika bursts into laughter.

I join him, after a minute.

“I’m gonna have sore arms tomorrow for _nothing_ ,” I rant. “It should’ve taken us half an hour to get _everything_. Even _with_ all the back and forth. I can’t _believe_ this.”

Eventually, I get over it. Well, that’s a lie, but eventually, I get hungry, so I shut up.

We make pasta and sausage for dinner. Pika snickers every time he sees a piece of sausage. I refrain from suggesting that he go hang some on the tree with the balls. I have a feeling he would, and I don’t wanna clean up the mess that would create.

We go back to our positions on the couch, and take up our books again.

We read together in silence for the rest of the night.

 

The week starts out fast, and only speeds up.

Gon’s party is suddenly here – or rather, _we’re_ suddenly _there_. Gon, as usual, is the most boring party host I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. Fortunately, Killua, as usual, has apparently forgotten that not everyone is immune to alcohol, and he’s an _incredible_ host. I’ll be honest. I have no idea what happened that night.

I _do_ know that when I wake up the next morning, Pika’s there.

The rest of the week is calmer. We don’t do a damn thing, except for grocery shopping. I’d have thought that doing nothing would slow things down – I’d be bored, time would move more slowly, Christmas would never come.

That’s when I discover that time _hates_ me.

It’s the only possible conclusion I can come to, because suddenly, it’s Christmas Eve, and I’ve only got one day left.

I make the most of it. Wild horses couldn’t drag me away from Pika’s side.

Time passes anyway, and I fall asleep knowing that tomorrow night, Pika’ll be on a plane, and my bed will be empty.

 

I jump, and suddenly, I’m awake.

Pika’s not there.

I frown. It’s dark. It _is_ Christmas, right? Not the day after? What time is it?

Is that – is that _music_ playing?

_“I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need…”_

I nearly fall out of bed, but I land on my feet, so it’s all right. I grope for my glasses and put them on. Maybe Pika just got up to go to the bathroom, but he wouldn’t have bothered turning on music for _that_.

I stumble out of my room.

The tree lights are on.

I find my way to the living room, and see Pika standing in front of the tree.

I try to speak, but my voice doesn’t make it out of my mouth on the first two tries. I clear my throat and try again. “Morning.”

He turns and smiles at me. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Why’re you up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

I head into the kitchen and start up coffee. If we’re going to be awake, we may as well do it right.

I drift off for a moment, waiting for the coffee to finish, but I manage to stay on my feet. I make two mugs and bring one to Pika. He wraps his hands around it and sips it slowly, like he’s thinking – although maybe it’s just because the coffee is hot. That’s probably it.

I down half the mug before I work up the energy to speak. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“I was thinking.” He grimaces. “And I don’t wanna go back to work tomorrow. Can I ask you a question?”

“Mmm.”

“Why do you always change the topic whenever I say that I should talk to you more often when we’re actually together in person?”

I drink another quarter of the mug before I answer. “We can talk over the phone, or Skype, or whatever the hell we happen to be using. And yeah, I know it’s not the same thing,” I add, staving off his objections, “but we can talk all the time. But there’s no app that lets you hit me in the face while you’re sleeping. There’s no app that lets you pass out on my chest. We can talk whenever we want, but we can’t sleep together unless we’re right next to each other.” I fall silent. That’s about the most I can vocalize, this early in the morning.

He bumps against my shoulder. “I wish you could just – pull yourself through to my room every night. I wish my job wasn’t so picky about my personal life.”

I shrug. “Ah well.”

The songs change eventually, from upbeat to something slower, far better suited to the darkness pooling outside. Pika sets his mug down on the coffee table and turns to me. He executes a rather elaborate bow. “May I have this dance?”

“You know how to dance?”

“Not a step.”

I set my mug down and turn towards him. I put one hand on his waist and hold up my other hand for him to take, and he does.

Christmas music wraps around us like velvet, warm and soft to the touch. Pika and I sway in circles around the room. I watch the lights play on his face, illuminating some of his skin in a quiet glow and tossing the rest into silent shadow.

“When you graduate,” he murmurs.

“When? I’ve still got two years to go.”

“No. I’ve decided. When you graduate, assuming I haven’t gotten fired or dismissed, I’m quitting.”

“ _What_?”

“Being a bodyguard is great, but it’s – reactionary. I don’t want to live my entire life reacting to threats. I’d rather stop them. And it’s too intrusive, when it comes to my personal life. On the other hand, the pay is great, and it’s helping me collect the Kurta eyes. It’s good for now. But when you graduate, I’m coming to live with you. I’ll get a job near wherever we end up living – it won’t be hard, I’ll be a Hunter with years of experience under my belt and incredible references. So. Two more years, and then I won’t have to leave you anymore.”

He smiles up at me, apparently unaware of the fact that he just made my future so glaringly bright I can hardly look at it anymore.

“Two more years.”

“Two more years,” he confirms.

I want to say that that’s a long time, but I think back on the past two years. They’re nothing but a blur, now that I’m looking back on them. Even things that seemed like they’d never end, ended quickly enough. I hardly remember half the things I did. Somehow, all the bad and the good disappeared, absorbed into the present, only important because they made _this precise second_ possible. Two years from now, even this will only matter because it will have foretold the moment when Pika moves in with me.

Two years isn’t half bad.

I lean down to kiss him. He wraps his arms around my neck to hold me there.


End file.
